


Many Happy Goodbyes

by Strange_johnlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s04e01 The Six Thatchers, Family, First Kiss, Fluff, John is a good father, M/M, Mary Lives, Mary comes back, Parentlock, Sherlock is a Good Father, Sherlock loves Rosie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 22:58:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10501203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strange_johnlock/pseuds/Strange_johnlock
Summary: The sixThatchers:When Mary leaves, Sherlock and John don't track her down.She returns to London over a year later.This is what she finds





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the lovely AuntieMabel for beta reading.

221B Baker street was a cozy mess, too many things stuffed into the living room, the patterns on the wallpaper making it look even smaller. Still, it felt like a home, even to her, even if Mary didn't belong here, never had. She had made her way into the house with the key she had nicked from John years ago and had found the door to the flat upstairs just opened wide enough for her to risk a look. There was a fire burning in the fire place and it smelled like tea and curry, the trace of chemicals months, maybe years old still clinging to the walls.

  
The sound of the violin reminded her of her wedding day, when Sherlock had played for them, soft and full of emotion, a composition for the growing Watson family, but this time the sadness was replaced by something stronger and lighter.

  
It had been 393 days since she had left London behind and with it her husband and child. One of her biggest fears had been for John to return to this ridiculous flat, because if he had, she would not be able to get him back. She had been at their house first, found it dark and empty, a sign in the yard telling her that it was 'for sale'. She felt sad, but not surprised. John hadn't really like the house when they had bought it weeks after the wedding, the thought of where to raise a child in mind. He had found it too modern, too sterile, even as Mary had tried to make it a home. Now it was as empty again.

  
Sherlock would know where she could find John and the whole cab ride she had prayed to whomever listened, that John had stopped speaking to his best friend, that her husband had somehow blamed Sherlock for her disappearance, or for not looking hard enough for her. It was selfish, Mary knew so much, but it happened out of the fear of losing John. Things hadn't been good between them, not since she pulled the trigger in Magnussen's flat, but they had started getting better ever since Rosie's birth and somehow Mary still hoped she could just come home to her family, as if she had not been gone for over a year, not a stranger to her young daughter.

  
Mary closed her eyes for a second in relieve, when she realised that Sherlock was alone, John was not there, not inside the living room or the flat. She still had a chance, small, but it was there. John loved Sherlock, but he had chosen Mary, for Rosie's sake. Sherlock loved John, but he had been too thick to admit it to himself or his best friend. But a lot could happen in a year.

  
It should be easy.

  
Go inside. Ask where John lives. Leave.

  
She wasn't able to move, felt like a little child that peeked into the living room through the keyhole on Christmas morning, felt like she was doing something forbidden.

  
The sound of the violin died, for a moment she feared Sherlock had sensed her presence, but the consulting detective put down his instrument and took two steps from the window to John's chair. He knelt down in front of it. Mary had never seen his face so soft. He looked almost human. Long fingers found golden hair and Mary bit back a whimper, pressed her hand to her mouth.

  
There, in the red armchair in front of the fire place, sat little Rosie Watson, head against the arm rest, clothed in lilac pajamas, asleep. She was so beautiful and Mary instantly stopped blaming Sherlock for looking at her with such love, because her own heart burst at the sight.  
She looked so small and still so much bigger than the child she had left behind, so peaceful in her sleep. A part of her wanted to burst into the flat, pick up her daughter and run. This was her flesh and blood and she should be holding her, not Sherlock. She struggled to hold that part of herself back.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock knew that John cried sometimes, when life as a single father got too hard. He knew John struggled with taking care of his daughter on his own, not knowing whether Mary would come back. He had tried to help, financially, which was easy; emotionally, which was oh so hard for him. Two months after Mary's disappearance he had asked John to move back to Baker Street and John had said no.

  
Rosie and John had moved in three weeks later, when John had realised that he spent almost all of his time there anyway.

  
Rosamund Mary Watson was endlessly fascinating. To her, even the smallest, most obvious things were exciting and she could learn something new with every breath she took, with every word someone said, noise something made. And he loved watching her learn, because there was not enough left for him to learn. To him the world was dull background noise. To her it was a symphony.

  
Sherlock started taking care of her, because John was a father, but he was also a doctor. And then he took care of her, because he liked it. And then he took care of her, because they were family.

  
When he lay in a hospital bed with a pretend disease and the hands of a serial killer on his mouth and nose he knew that he didn't want to die, because he had to still so much left to show her, to teach her, as he imagined her looking up at him with John's eyes and that hunger for wisdom on her face.  
John had come and Sherlock had been able to breathe again, both figuratively and literally, as the doctor pushed Cultverton Smith away from him. They had been able to get rid of another monster, making the world a little safer for Rosie.

  
Much later, back at the flat, fingers dug into the fabric of his shirt as a warm mouth moved over the place where suffocating hands had been hours ago. Sherlock wrapped his hands around John's neck and tilted his head, as he answered those questioning kisses with all that he had in him. He could feel John's smile, as they parted, still breathing against each others lips.

  
“You should really shave.”

  
“Hmmm.” Sherlock agreed, stealing another kiss. “Sleep first.”

  
“Yes. Good idea.”

  
Neither of them moved.

  
“Can I... can I sleep upstairs? I want you and Rosie close.”

  
John's fingers moved against his cheeks.

  
“Of course.”

  
They had arranged themselves in John's small bed and when Rosie had woken up two hours later, she had climbed into bed with them and they had both wrapped one arm around her, keeping her safe.

  
Life had moved on, John going to work every morning, Sherlock staying behind with Rosie in their haven called 221B Baker Street, but now there were kisses, and then sex, a lot of it. Sherlock sometimes wondered if they should talk about Mary, but that name seemed to be taboo for John now. And so Sherlock said nothing, silently fearing the day she would come back. 393 days.

 

* * *

 

Mary took a deep breath and the decision she made in this exact moment broke her heart. Still, she would do what was best for her daughter. Mary had never brought good into anyone's life, only destruction and death. It was in her nature. Rosie Watson deserved more, she deserved to be looked at the way Sherlock looked at her, she deserved to be lulled asleep by the sound of a violin, she deserved to want to be a consulting detective when she grew up. She could have all of that here.

Mary would find another life, she was good at finding herself a place to live, a person to share her bed with. She would find another name, one that didn't quite sound as good as Mary Watson. And maybe one day she could come back and take another look at this beautiful little girl and see her happy.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock picked up Rosie. She had refused to go to bed today and he had pulled his best trick. The lullaby was named after his little girl and he had composed it the night she had teethed for the first time. She had fallen asleep after only five minutes and he picked her up, kissing her hair. She sighed in her sleep and snuggled into him, as he made is way to her room. He came to an abrupt halt on the stair case. That scent. Claire de la lune.

  
Sherlock moved down the stairs as fast as he could with a sleeping child in his arms and got to the front door. The people on Baker Street were all strangers, except for one. John had a shopping bag in each hand and he smiled at them.

  
“Oh hello, love. Everything all right?”

  
Sherlock smiled back.

  
“Yes, everything is all right. We missed you.”

  
John's answer was swallowed by a kiss.

 

Mary smiled. John kissing Sherlock looked so right, like their love was destiny and she felt honored to have been a part of their lives. One last look, then she turned around and left London behind for the second time.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback ist appreciated.  
> Thank you so much for reading


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